A Dull Ache
by justsomewords
Summary: Sometimes your demons follow you onto holy ground and sadness trails you like a cloud of smoke.


The rain was unrelenting, but between the buildings it barely fell upon the veranda. The uneven jut of the the corrugated metal left the water to drip, one roof to the next, creating a slum-sized water feature. Drops fell around him, but it scarcely mattered. A few spots were nothing to get too upset over, even as they spread across the silk.

Night time was the only time he could feel free and this veranda was the only place. Though it wasn't his, he'd always felt at home here, especially since he'd been away. Things felt almost frozen in time here, a place away from the trouble and worry of the day-to-day. It wasn't that he didn't like the life he'd created for himself, but rather that there was a dull sort of ache in his chest when the small hours came. A longing for something simpler. A need to be somewhere he felt at peace.

The ache was here now, despite being in the right place at the right time. The lights from the alleyway spilled through the open doors, yellowed bulbs mixing with the soft, blue glow of the computer screens. It was hot and humid, even with the summer rainstorm overhead, the occasional burst of lightning sending rolling thunder between the buildings. It was relaxing enough listening to the sounds of the storm, watching the smoke curl from the cigarette dangling precariously from between his fingers. The ash was growing long, neglected in his idle thoughts.

This ache was different. It was an old friend of his and rightfully enough caused by an old friend of his. Said friend lay just inside, sprawling across the floor between the table and computer. He'd been working hard lately, which was a comparative sort of statement: he wasn't one to do much these days and had been doing a lot lately. His work had taken him across the city a few times, had required him to haul boxes and rearrange heavy things. It wasn't a hard job, but he was more fragile now than he'd ever been before, and there was a soft worry that washed over him each time he heard of another migraine, another night collapsed in bed before dinner.

He had been upgrading his firmware, installing new chips and making minor adjustments to keep his beloved Allmate in good working order. It had engaged its own sleep mode after he'd nodded off, slumped over in a loose curl around it. The wires were still connected to the computer, attesting to his devotion to his poor, outdated beast.

Sometimes that's how he felt he must seem to others. Perhaps that's what they thought when he matched pace with his wiry, frail friend, his kimono fluttering slightly in the breeze as they moved. Some knew just how long he'd been following him, watching him, providing him with whatever he could manage without hesitation. Maybe he was here because they were both too sentimental to be apart.

They were different people than they had been. He tried so hard to maintain what they were, to keep himself relevant and necessary, but it felt harder and harder to do. There was an annoyance in his voice whenever they spoke now and each casual encounter felt like a rejection. Every night he returned to his own home, whether alone or accompanied, it ended the same. He always lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering vaguely whether or not he should bother trying again.

In this home, it was different. The annoyance wasn't as severe, the criticisms lighter and less damning. Here it was like when they were younger, both causing his grandmother grief and joy just by existing, eating her food and retiring for the night sated and happy.

It felt like he should leave when it turned out like this.

There was no expression of discomfort or fear on his sleeping companion, and if he was dreaming there on the floor, his dreams were not troubling. Certainly his grandmother was sleeping by now as well, equally quiet and contented despite her protests against them. Why should he be here, awake and troubled, smoking in their alley? Why should he taint this place with his poor mood?

He'd left before. He'd carefully collected his effects and moved silently through the house. He'd sent Beni to lock the door behind him, collecting the sparrow-sized Allmate before the journey back home. It was unfair to burden them with his moods, especially when they did so much to help banish them.

It was hard to explain the ache and thankfully he'd never been asked to. When it came to him here, it was born of a sense of misplacement. He was here because he wanted to be and not because he was wanted on his own. There was no room for him here, and he usually fell asleep on the floor or veranda, tucked away somewhere no one would stumble over him or find him to be immediately in the way. He always woke up early and made himself useful, as if trying to prove his worth and allow his continued stay. He was always cheerful, ready with compliments and a helping hand.

Stubbing his cigarette, he left the butt in the ashtray where it belonged. There were a few others there from tonight, his black enameled case nearly empty in his pocket. He only ever smoked here but he'd smoked a lot tonight. It had been nearly full when he'd arrived.

He turned back inside, the sounds of the storm neither waxing nor waning behind him, the small puddles on the veranda no danger to the floor inside. He'd leave the door open for now, enjoy the rhythmic drumming and distant thunder until morning. His eyes ran across the room, watching the faintly lit silhouette of his friend gently breathing, fingers tangled lightly in his Allmate's short, blue fur. They were a perfect match, he thought, and seeing them like this always made him smile.

He knew the floor wouldn't be comfortable to such a boney boy but he hesitated to act for a few long moments. His stomach twisted slightly, the ache in his chest beating in time with his heart. He shouldn't touch him but he would be so stiff if he didn't get him onto the mattress. Would he be angry if Ren wasn't beside him when he woke up? Would he be angry if Ren was unplugged when he woke up?

It was hard to judge his moods and reactions lately and when he tried, he always assumed the worst. That wasn't fair of him, but he did so all the same. It was not borne of a poor opinion of his oldest and dearest friend, but of a peculiar type of self-loathing that he could scarcely explain to himself. An assumption that his actions were unwanted and his inaction condemned.

There were no right answers anymore.

He decided to do what he always did: default to how they had always been. His fingertips brushed the pseudo-dog's forehead, his eyes opening as his sleep mode disengaged. He seemed almost confused, nearly greeted his master out of habit, but stayed silent a moment longer to better assess his situation.

"Koujaku."

"Ren, are your updates finished?"

"Yes. I have already installed them while I was in sleep mode."

"Would you mind if I unplugged you and closed you up?" It seemed almost improper to do so without asking. The dog surely wouldn't mind. All the same, he wanted to make certain.

"You can unplug me."

Careful, practiced fingers moved through the dog's fur, pulling apart the skin to reveal the plugs where they connected to the ports. Each was carefully pulled in turn until he was free once more, the flap of fur replaced over top of the peripherals. He couldn't help but smile at the dog, its ever-extended tongue and large, lifeless eyes one of the cuter Allmates he'd ever seen, at least with a man. The dog wagged its fluffy tail at the smile, programmed to respond in kind to such gestures.

"How is he?" the man asked softly, fingers idly brushing the dog's cheek, smoothing the fur against his padded understructure. It was a very fond motion that did not match his feelings for the dog, but that brought him some amount of peace all the same.

"Sleeping," the dog responded, stating the obvious answer to the question first. After a pause, he continued, "Aoba is sleeping peacefully. His resting heart rate is 62, blood pressure stable. His thought levels are acceptable, if not a bit low. He doesn't appear to be dreaming."

"Mn." Once again, the man's eyes wandered over his sleeping companion's frame, fingers still moving gently against the dog's face. "Is he in pain?"

"Yes," came the reply, with a bit less hesitation than would make the human comfortable. The ache intensified, his throat feeling somewhat tight. "There are a few point of pressure in his current position that put his joints under duress. He seems to be unaffected by headaches at this time."

"Shall I put him to bed?"

"That would be a good idea."

There was some amount of unease that settled over him as he turned to the dreamless boy beside him. It wasn't as if he hadn't done this a dozen times before, but it never ceased to make him feel intrusive. Swallowing back his anxiety and ignoring the ache that throbbed within him, he slipped his hands beneath his friend's shoulder and hip, rolling him backwards into his arms. He felt so fragile and thin, and the usual worries about his health surfaced in his mind. His breathing was steady, however, only a soft whimper of disturbance interrupting its slow rhythm. If he'd woken at all, it was only for a moment.

He stood, holding his sleeping companion to his chest as he moved, and made his way around the table to the bed. His shoulders would hit the mattress first, head resting in his nest of pillows. His hips would remain lifted for a few moments as the blanket was tugged down, tucked around him as soon as he was settled beneath it. He would probably get hot and kick it off, but it would certainly be too invasive to undress him and slip him into pajamas.

There was a moment that he stood indecisive, then he sat on the edge of the bed, hand resting lightly against the form beneath the blanket. The soft click-click of the dog's claws announced his approach and he would be lifted onto the bed where he could find his place against his master.

There was room for him too, he knew, if he so chose to rest here for the night. His stomach knotted again and his throat tightened at the thought, eyes casting away from the sleeping shapes on the bed.

No. It wasn't his place to do so.

"How is he now, Ren?"

"Much more comfortable. Thank you, Koujaku."

A small, sad smile tugged at his lips and his fingers found the dog again. He pressed his palm to his forehead, murmuring a soft 'goodnight' as the dog entered sleep mode once more. He would not linger any longer, would not allow his eyes to catch sight of the blue-haired boy resting peacefully beside him. No, he had already done enough. Already taken his liberties. Already overstepped his boundaries.

The rain continued, collecting on the pavement beneath the veranda. The soft glow of the lamplight and the occasional flare of the cigarette were the only things that identified his silhouette on the balcony. It would be a long night, full of evading terrible, invasive thoughts just as surely as sleep evaded him. But this was a quiet place, a peaceful place, and he would not disturb it. Once morning arrived, he would judge his welcome and take his leave when he saw fit.

The rain would subside even if the ache did not.


End file.
